Ryan didn't waste time talking. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Zachary was slumped on the leather sofa.
His handsome face was flushed a dangerous crimson, and his eyes were completely unfocused.
Ryan frowned in disgust. The floor was covered in jagged shards of glass. He carefully stepped around the wreckage to reach his friend.
The overwhelming stench of hard liquor hit him immediately.
His frown deepened.
He had never seen Zachary like this.
Zachary Lowell was the proud, untouchable prince of their circle. He didn't do public breakdowns or let himself get sloppy drunk.
"Zachary, what the hell is wrong with you?" Ryan demanded.
Drinking at a club first thing in the morning? Getting this wasted?
What had actually happened?
Zachary kept his eyes squeezed shut and didn't answer.
Suddenly, his body seized, and he began to uncontrollably vomit.
He was completely out of it, throwing up violently all over the expensive sofa.
Ryan leaned in and his stomach dropped—there was bright red blood mixed into the vomit.
Panicking, he immediately ordered the manager and security to haul Zachary up and rush him to the nearest hospital.
Upon arrival, the emergency team ran a rapid series of tests. The diagnosis was severe stomach bleeding.
The doctor explained that Zachary had likely consumed massive amounts of high-proof alcohol on a completely empty stomach, severely irritating the lining and causing it to rupture.
They immediately started him on an IV drip.
Once the chaos settled, Ryan finally breathed a sigh of relief. Zachary was still unconscious in the hospital bed.
He walked over to the window and dialed Yvaine's number.
She picked up quickly.
"Yvaine, Zachary's in the hospital," Ryan said bluntly.
Yvaine froze.
Hospitalized?
What happened?
Had he actually gone to fight Silas, lost miserably, and gotten himself beaten into a hospital bed?
"What happened to him?" she asked carefully.



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